Beware of the Dark Masters:
Foolish are they who believe in the words of the seer.
May the puppeteer neglect your loved ones.
They who possess the sword gain fatal power.
Vanity eclipses and mars the skin.
The virtuous are to be ignored.
Protect your livestock from the parasites.
And long live the King.
Prologue
In Dracaena, there is a saying, that before the sun sets, cover your ears and bar the windows, turn on the sonophones and never leave your huts. For when the night falls, a voice will beckon.
The voice, a deep timbre encompassed in sorrow, will languidly sing warnings all throughout the night. It will spin absurd tales of the wicked, caution against their dark vices, create strife between families, and heed everyone within the vicinity of its beckoning to trust no one.
If you did not listen to the voice, then may the Goddess have mercy upon your mortal soul. Many citizens hid away from the noise, frightened by its dreary lyrics. Those who regarded the words as truth, knew better than to go outside, where the Devil's monsters lurked.
Yet there were those who bided their time against the warnings, blocking out the eerie tune, and dismissing it as nothing more than the Devil's call for mischief—languidly serenading sweet nothings into the ears of pious fools in order to deceive.
For eleven years, Dracaena has lived in fear of the night, dreading when the light disappeared to make way for the darkness and for when the moon rose to its peak in the sky….
Hm, oh?
Dear one, is this tale not to your liking?
Foolish? Me?
You do not yet perceive what you do not understand.
Ahaha, my apologies if this narrative is too far-fetched for your tastes. Yet do not dismiss my words as pure fiction. I assure you, the events are as real as you being here with us today.
Oh?
Still not convinced?
Dear one, there's no need to become belligerent.
Sigh, you may continue drinking the ale our fine bartender has prepared for you.
Hah, yes, no need to show off your cup.
I implore you, do not reject what may seem… incomprehensible upon first glance.
Everything has its story, as do you.
Judging by your dress, you've come from afar. Ale is great to soothe the spirits, but why not rest the mind and entertain yourself while you're here with us today?
Hm?
Oh, ahahaha! I like the gumption in you, dear one. You have that sort of… spark that reminds me of a certain someone. Do try to follow along, you may miss all the good parts.
Ah, now, where was I?
And during those eleven years, caving into the hysteria, the citizens were all tortured by a new tune each day of the week. On the first day, they could unfortunately hear the voice sing:
"Strings of fate woven by design,
See to it that the future is mine;
May Her Grace doth confide,
That fortune be on your side;
If you listen to Her tale,
It will surely never fail;
But Her words may carry a sacrifice,
That may end up taking your life."
Once upon a time, the citizens of Dracaena lived freely, reveling in the darkness after sundown and bringing to it their own kind of light. Everyday was a celebration of the kingdom's prosperity.
Long ago, the citizens never had to safeguard against the night. There was nothing to fear. Rather, folly took over the towns and cities. Instead of locking their windows, wreaths were hung on the sills. Rather than shutting out the blinds, lights drooped from each connecting flat or townhouse. In lieu of living reclusively, they went out to the piers or the commons to bask in the festivities, singing along to sonorous music or dancing lively.
They had no need to agonize about what monsters lurked in the night. Their Queen made sure of it. As the battle between man and demon persisted outside the kingdom's walls, the citizens were contentedly tucked away from harm.
But now, on the second night of every week, the citizens close their shutters from hearing the next tune:
"The dead will live again,
Lock your doors and guard your children;
Your brother is not who you know,
And your sister's flame 's not aglow;
The joker will trick your kind,
Beat his game and bide his time;
Or the bodies will collapse,
Right in front of your laps."
Then one night, the war horns cried out, panicking the citizens. Its raging wails alerted them to hide within the cities' bunkers and their town's basements. Those in the capital sought refuge within the palace. Guards were stationed all around, but the capital of Dracaena was short on soldiers, having sent them off to battle the bloodthirsty beasts that preyed beyond the walls.
The citizens' worries grew within the palace and nobles sweated at their brow, furiously fanning away their anxieties. A large audience was conducted, and the Queen made a special appearance to announce that she will protect her citizens with her own power, and asked for brave men and women to accompany her.
Over the course of the following month, the new recruits were trained for battle. Her Majesty then rode off on a warhorse along with her newly formed royal guards, who pledged their loyalty to the kingdom that night when the first warning siren blared.
The citizens still reminisce their loved ones and their only queen dashing off into the night as the third day of the week approaches:
"Try as one can might,
In his hands is a sword grasped tight;
Lose your sense of reality,
And be a servant to fatality;
Guard your hearts and heads well,
Pray that you're not under its spell;
Run away if you can,
But beware of what's in his hand."
The battle proceeded for more than a year, still with no sign of the Queen's whereabouts. In her place, her grandson, Pothos Dracaena, sat atop the throne. As the youngest king regent at only fifteen, he was only a ruler in name, while his advisors and their apprentices took care of the citizens and managed the castle.
Then the Queen returned. Two guards outside the walls saw her horse trying to enter the gates, a body haphazardly drooping to the side of its saddle.
A rush of royal carriages flurried to the outpost of the capital, the young king aloft inside one of them. He stepped out with the help of his personal attendant, looking at the scene with a morose expression.
The citizens still remember his beautiful face, crushed to tears upon looking at his grandmother's body lying atop her trusted steed. Whenever the fourth day of the week approaches, the citizens hear:
"Eyes sewn shut and mouths stitched up,
Are the traits of the corrupt;
Mask your beauty and hide your charm,
Don't be fooled, they mean to disarm;
If vanity is a sin,
Then they will use it to take your skin."
Without the support of the Queen and a lack of militia, the humans were losing the battle against the demons. Dracaena was forced into rations. The battle with the demons took their numbers and ruined their crops. Everyday was a struggle to get by, even the wealthy were forced into poverty to support the war effort. To make matters worse, after the Queen's funeral, morale of the citizens was at its lowest point. With nothing else to celebrate, the citizens slowly accepted their new reality and looked towards the heavens for hope from their Goddess.
On the fifth night of the week, you can still hear their cries as the voice continues:
"Do not pray to your Grace,
For Her soldiers have immodest tastes;
Thee of the collar is foul,
His words have all turned sour;
They will set fires to your homes,
And discard all of your bones;
Crosses will line the streets,
Baring the victims' arms and feet."
Dracaena's young regent to-be-king did not have his coronation as was planned. As if Dracaena's fortunes couldn't get any worse, one day, their regent went missing from his bedchambers.
His personal attendant called upon the servants and searched the castle for two days. With no luck and their prayers unanswered, the royal guards searched within the capital and outside its walls.
The citizens heard of the news. Distraught, they helped in the search, but didn't find anything of use. Every week on the sixth day, they recall their panic as they hear:
"Gather 'round your precious flock,
And keep them under tight lock;
All is well 'til you see,
The parasites on their knees;
Try not to be too frightened,
Their senses will be heightened;
In the streets, they will rise,
Fear the cryptids' lust for man's demise."
The Goddess, bless her Grace, returned the regent after five more days of the search. Upon his return, the king locked himself up in his room and didn't come out. Everyone grew restless, especially his closest attendant, who used to wait on him hand and foot.
No one knew what occurred between the present day and his disappearance, but after the king returned, everyone who was close to him knew that something about him was amiss. However, those outside of the castle rejoiced and celebrated his safe return, and those in the castle seemed to let it go after a long while.
That was until they were all fired and replaced, including his attendant who had taken care of him upon his return.
After that incident, everyone grew wary of him when they heard the final song play on the seventh and final day:
"You there, beware of the King,
But heed to the notes that he sings;
Within these kingdoms' walls
The palace will surely fall;
Please, do not make a mistake,
The one you deem true is a fake;
Unless the lost is found,
The devil will be crowned;
Undo the curse upon thee,
One among you is the key
That sways the balance of the tides,
If he can survive
The will of time."